


Find A Way

by genee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-29
Updated: 2007-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-15 21:53:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genee/pseuds/genee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sam squirmed beside him, all knees and elbows, seventeen and still too awkward for words, trying to shove the first aid kit into his duffle without pulling it all the way out from under the seat. Dean's shoulder hurt like a motherfucker and Sam's eyes were too bright, and Dean could see their father's face in the rearview, half in shadow, half in light.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Find A Way

Sam squirmed beside him, all knees and elbows, seventeen and still too awkward for words, trying to shove the first aid kit into his duffle without pulling it all the way out from under the seat. Dean's shoulder hurt like a motherfucker and Sam's eyes were too bright, and Dean could see their father's face in the rearview, half in shadow, half in light.

"Good work tonight," he said, and Dean nodded, did his best to ignore the jagged cut across his shoulder. On the radio some nut was ranting about seven sins and global warming and Dad switched the station to something low and bluesy and Dean knew they'd be driving through the night. Sammy reached into the front seat for the blanket, mumbled something that sounded enough like _yessir_ for Dad to let it pass. "You boys get some sleep now."

Dean sort of wished he had the backseat to himself, but that wasn't going to happen, not with Sam feeling guilty for Dean getting hurt again and Dad in the mood Dad was in, and it was easy enough to let Sam tug him onto his good side, his back against Sam's chest and Sam's arm around his waist keeping him from moving around too much. It wasn't anything close to comfortable, coats bunched into pillows and their legs all tangled up, but Dean could feel the painkillers kicking in and he wasn't about to start complaining.

Sam's breath was warm on the back of his neck, and the blanket was soft, and Dean knew by the time they got wherever they were going it would probably reek so bad they'd have to leave it behind, but they hadn't been on the road that long yet and it still smelled nice, like Tide and sleep and a little like coffee, and he wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep before he woke up again, Sam's voice in his ear, "God, Dean, I'm so sorry," his palm cupped over Dean's bandaged shoulder, long fingers spread out over the edges.

"S'okay, Sammy," he murmured, and it really was, because if he hadn't shoved Sam out of the way it'd be Sam's blood spilling hot and sharp on the frozen ground and Dean mumbling in Latin, and whatever, this way was better, was the way it was supposed to be. Sam was safe, and Dean was okay, and Dad wasn't paying any attention to them at all now, lost in his own thoughts and the night and the rhythm of the road, and underneath the blanket Dean scratched his fingernails up and down his brother's arm until Sam shivered, opened his mouth on the soft skin behind Dean's ear.

It was wrong, god, it was so wrong, and so fuckin' risky, but Sam's dick was pressed against him, hard and thick, his big hand sliding down Dean's body and Dean's dick rising to meet it, caught between his belly and his jeans. Dean didn't have to turn his head to know what Sam looked liked now, pink skin and blown pupils and if they were alone Dean would grind back against him, his throat bared and Sam's hand down the front of his jeans, hot and way too tight. If they were alone, he'd stretch out on his back and pull Sam over him, wrap his fingers into Sam's hair and kiss him breathless, Sam's hips bucking hard, sharp smell of spunk and sweat and Sam's whole body shaking. If they were alone, he'd push Sam up against the seat and unzip his jeans, slide down low enough to suck Sam's cock into his mouth, salty sweet and jumping on his tongue, thick vein pulsing and Sam saying Dean's name over and over, his hand on the back of Dean's neck spreading wildfire all down his spine.

If they were alone he'd tell Sam that it was okay, all of it, that he wanted this while he could still have it, that he wanted Sam to have it, too. He knew Sam would leave them some day, was already leaving, was gone a little more every day and it was killing Dean in ways he'd never be able to talk about, but he could talk about this, Sam's hands and Sam's skin and the way he sounded fucking into Dean, his voice all ragged and caught in his throat. He could lick the words into Sammy's skin, soft bites along his hipbone, on the inside his thighs, make sure he realized that Dean understood, that Sam could leave and come back and Dean would understand, everything, in all the ways he possibly could.

Sam gasped softly as the car banked right, muscles flexing in response, long curve around and Dean tried hard not to rock his hips. He could feel the car slowing down, hear the change in the surface of the road and he knew Sam heard it, too, his hand sliding off Dean's dick and up around his middle. Sam stretched, clutching at the blanket, and Dean glanced up at the rearview and blinked real slow.

"Gonna fill up here, drive through the night," Dad said, the car rolling to a stop under bright gas station lights. He turned to look at them, one hand on the back of the seat, sharp eyes moving from Dean to Sam and back again, and Dean wondered what he saw when he looked at them, what he didn't see. "Ten minutes," he said, nodding toward the payphone on the corner before he slid out of the car, leaving the door open behind him.

Dean grinned, climbed out into the cold night air. Sam's skin was flushed and his sweatshirt was tugged low and turned inside out, and Dean could still see the outline of his dick against the groove of his hip, small wet patch of denim Dean rubbed his thumb against, dark cockhead leaking underneath. Ten minutes in a public restroom wasn't much, but Dean was pretty sure he could find a way to make it work.

 

 

\-- END--


End file.
